Reawakening
by Pinay Tiger
Summary: [AU in modern times] Katara was given a book that ambiguously spoke of the Legend of the Avatar. Somewhat a skeptic - yet somehow unbelieving - she stumbles upon a mysterious boy named Aang, reawakened from a spell. Can they stop the ensuing destruction?


Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own the Avatar, though I do possess an unearthly state of an overactive imagination. This is written for enjoyment purposes only!

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Author's Notes: This is my first attempt at an Avatar story, though not my first time writing fan fiction; I usually write Rurouni Kenshin stories and decided to give Avatar a chance. Anyways, some general warnings: this is an AU set in modern times; OOCness also abounds, but only because I'm focused more on plot development _and_ my characterization still has little knowledge since I've only watched about 5 episodes thus far; and, my characters _WILL_ be a few years older. Please do review, just so I can know that someone's out there reading this. And please, I love constructive criticism! Since I'm new in this fandom, I'd love to see others input. If my plot seems ambiguous, I'm doing so just to let the story bloom on its own. And, on with my crummy first attempt at an Avatar story….

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Reawakening

Chapter 1

A Legend of Old

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The high gray-flannel fog of winter closed off the city from the darkening skies and from the sun that so lusciously warmed the lands. Winter had come early. Everything seemed bleaker. And the lone figure walking down the deserted park sighed inwardly after seeing the last of the sun dissolve into the silver lining. Today was a waste, no doubt, but admitting to such notions would only leave her to believe things couldn't get any worse. But, sure enough, the day would _in fact_ get worse, or so she admonished lightly. Better not to jinx whatever good could accompany the last dying hours of the day. 

Earlier this morning, Katara had to appear before the faculty of her high school for her apparently "mysterious" misdemeanors dealing with water. Not that she was the cause or problem, but buildings and complexes she seemed to pass by lately spewed water from drains and pipes and fixtures. How she was there and why people threw an accusing finger in her direction was beyond Katara. Surely witchcraft couldn't act as an explanation for all that has been occurring, for no one in this day and age believed in things of old.

She frowned.

She had been suspended several weeks ago. And now, she was condemned to being on the verge of another sentence away from school for a lapse of a few days. And who was there to blame? Obviously, no one. But then again, it wasn't really fair that she was blamed for the forlorn mishaps happening at her school.

She had stepped into the Principal's office, inwardly cursing at the faculty and staff. _What did I ever do to deserve this? I ran for president last year for my class, I was part of the student senate, I take Advanced Placement courses to challenge myself, and here I am? The school has some nerve to actually think I did all of _those_ weird things going on._

When she entered the Principal's office, she was automatically redirected to the faculty-room. Clad in a simple baby blue cotton shirt, a white parka, and dark blue jeans, Katara had stepped in awkwardly, meeting the silence and gloom of the building. She tried smiling, and the teachers' eyes roved her clothes, which were a trifle outgrown, her parka somewhat frayed and worn. She had her hair tied up in a typical ponytail, with nothing but a light purple tie adorning her locks of russet lace. She was pretty short for her age, very thin, taking upon the appearance of a fragile feminine sort. With the upward tug of her lips suddenly turning into a grim line, she looked at her audience wryly.

When questioned by her Principal as to interrogate whether or not she knew the dire circumstances of her being there, she merely shook her head innocently. But doing this proved useless for she knew just about each and every teacher before her suspected she was the one behind all of the sick pranks and jokes dealing with water. Her teachers were asked to state the respective charges they had against her, which they acquiesced to with such a rancor and aggrievedly scornful manner as evinced that this was not a usual meeting dealing with delinquent acts brought upon this young generation. Chaos and impertinence were among some of the offenses exuded, after the mentioning of her older brother.

"Just because _he_ misbehaves doesn't mean _I do_!" she had bitterly shot at her Principal. "Sure, Sokka and I _may_ be related, but that doesn't mean that _airhead_ of an older brother rubs off on me just so I can go about causing water to seep from buildings!" _Now how does one go about explaining that these weird things just don't happen out of nowhere?_ She had voiced in her head.

Each of her instructors felt it was scarcely possible to place into words the real cause of the trouble. Once, when she had made an attempt to emulate the style of a Mark Twain passage in lieu of preparation for finals in her English class, she attacked the blackboard with a stick of chalk; some of the kids were snickering behind her, but _not_ at her, only to mock their teacher in a pubescent fashion. After the screeching chalk was placed back on the ledge of the blackboard, a gurgling and swishing noise somewhat resonated through the walls. Be that as it may, the students were a tad confused to what was happening. In an instant, water had burst from the vents, flooding the room. This incident was so involuntary, so random, as to be unforgettable. Post hoc ergo propter hoc: because of this incident, this lead her teachers to feel a certain aversion towards Katara - and having water fly from unsuspecting vents for over four occasions doesn't help her much in her current state.

She felt ridiculous when she had nothing to say or do to protect her defense, but, rather sheepishly, stood through the entire lecture smiling, her pink lips parted presenting fine porcelain teeth. Other spiffy teens of her generation when dealt under the same ordeal could have broken down with tears snaking down their cheeks - Katara remained standing with a set smile.

The inquisition proceeded that day, but then died down to a bitter nothing when Katara complacently reassured them that she was in fact not the one to be blamed. Some teachers felt sorry for the whole thing and decided to leave her be; some other kids were probably goofing off somewhere else on the school campus, waiting to be yelled at.

The teachers had left the building - some dissatisfied and unhappy, some remorseful and chiding. Katara had left with a heavy sigh leaving her lips, and groaned at the thought of attending her last class. _I seriously don't need this right now. Something's going on around here and I'm always the root of blame. Maybe I should just skip class altogether and head for home._

And so, we find Katara alone in the park, watching the last bit of honeyed glow dissolve into the ugliness of the grizzled clouds. She continued her broken trek across the sea of green, lumbering impatiently at the thought of what happened earlier. She continued walking until her eyes met with the open doors of an art gallery that had opened not too long ago.

When she reached the double doors, it was chilly outside and she decided to go to the picture gallery part of the building - and, considering the small amount of people crowding the gallery, she figured that was the most deserted spot at this day and hour. Hey eyes fixed on many paintings portraying Venetian scenes, enthralling her fascination. She was really delighted to note that no one was in the gallery but a short, aging woman and one guard on duty. Katara possessed herself of the place and paced quickly across the room, enjoying each and every piece of art her eyes examined.

She walked, slower this time, and her legs tired quickly. She sat herself down on a bench and lost herself in a piece that was neither safe to call impressionistic or Neoclassical. Sure, it was a large canvas with oils, with brushwork heavy and soft, delicate and rough. She felt there was something odd about this picture. The painting was abstract somewhat; and her mind registered the ethereal bodies as groups of people from ancient times. Some adorned the color of blue, others green, some red. She was still coming to conclusions as to what the painting symbolized but to no avail gave up rather quickly.

"You know," a small squeaky voice interrupted Katara's train of thought, "that's a very rare painting."

Katara took the care of experience to look at the person addressing her and met with the old lady's tender gaze. Her eyes were gray, her body short and stout. Katara smiled. "Is that so?"

"Yes."

"I've never seen a painting like it before, so I guess it _is_ fairly rare."

The old woman smiled. Katara moved her bottom to the end of the bench and patted the space next to her. The woman took up the offer and sat beside her. Katara on the other hand looked to the woman's aging facial features: her eyes masked with a sparking flame, her skin wrinkly, and the bridge of her nose adorned with small bifocals. "It has elements of abstract art. But you can rather tell quite plainly what the artist intended to show to his audience. If you take a look at the blue, that is symbolic for water. The composition seems more surreal. Now," she paused, and then continued. "The blue was used to indicate the Water Nation, red, the Fire nation. You see the artist had such an imagination." The elder turned to Katara and beamed.

"He does indeed," was her sheepish reply. "But then what are those symbols to the left?"

The old woman followed Katara's hand and scrutinized the odd calligraphy. "I was once told it was a prophecy stating the reawakening of the Avatar-"

"The _Avatar_?"

The woman merely nodded. "Legend had spoke of an age old era where the world was split into several nations; each nation was governed by elements of the world. It was such a time of disorder and turmoil, each nation battling against the controlling Fire nation. The Avatar was said to be the last hope for the world, that he would save all and make things right."

"What happened?"

"He never showed. But then that is just what legends speak of. We all know sometimes fantasy overpowers the human cognitive. It's just a painting, mind you, and there are many theories as to why only _one_ of these paintings was found. It was dated back to several thousand years. But the Renaissance was flourishing in Italy at the same time this painting was forged."

Katara looked on skeptically. "What an amazing story."

"It truly is, dear," the woman agreed. "Just a shame that the artist was never named or knew about." She stood up abruptly and smiled again, but this time a genuine smile. "I'll be on my way now. I trust it that I somehow enlightened you today about art?"

"Of course!" Katara replied. "I really never knew much of anything concerning art. But really, this painting is intriguing."

The woman turned on her heel but then before leaving said: "I've got a book I'd want you to have. It's an old inscription, hieroglyphics mostly, thought by historians to be a key to that ancient time I've told you about." She turned her head, awaiting a reply.

"M-me? Why me? I-I'm only a sixteen-year-old girl in high school. What could I possibly do with something like that?" She was now lightly chastising herself for adopting the habit of getting into odd situations.

"I was entitled to the book when I was about your age, and I was just as perplexed with what to do with it. But I'm tired of carrying it with me. Maybe it could do you some good. I know it helped me understand a part of my life no books or further reading could ever have been endorsed upon my knowledge."

"But you said it was ancient, and something historians felt important towards the painting's art period. Wouldn't it be better encased in some glass box in a museum downtown or something?" Oh, how she always seemed to appear in the wrong place at the wrong time!

"Nonsense, my dear child. I would really appreciate if you did an old lady a favor and took this off her hands. I have only a few years left to live, and not that much time to go to new places and meet new people. There's something about you; call it Old Lady's Intuition!" She placed a leather book in Katara's hands after approaching.

All Katara did was look in amazement with how the book was embroidered. When she turned her head after a moment of silence to thank the woman, she had somehow disappeared and all that remained was Katara and the lone guard. She turned her head back to the book in her hands. Sighing, she looked to the painting and then to the book. The same calligraphy was found on the binding of the leather. She had a mock glare on her expression and resignedly groaned. "The Legend of the Avatar, eh?"

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Author's Notes: How was it? I hope I did an okay job. I find this rather short, the chapter that is. Anyway, I have nothing much else to say but please review! Tell me what you think. And here's some end notes:

1. Post hoc, ergo propter hoc: Latin for: "after this, therefore because of this." In simple terms, it's a form of an argument in which one event is asserted to be the cause of a later event.


End file.
